


glass half-filled

by d_v_whelan, ernnsts



Series: the bitch of living [7]
Category: Spring Awakening - Sheik/Sater
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Friends to Lovers, Hand Jobs, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 17:49:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,256
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18526543
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/d_v_whelan/pseuds/d_v_whelan, https://archiveofourown.org/users/ernnsts/pseuds/ernnsts
Summary: moritz is sad after hanschen and ernst's wedding, so melchior cheers him up.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> title is from 'fan letter' by johnny gallagher.
> 
> sam wrote the first part up to them heading towards moritz's bedroom then i wrote the rest. (also this is the first time i've ever officially written smut don't kill me.)
> 
> for some unspoken context on melchior's part (since we don't see his perspective): he's been trying to smash moritz for two years, but there's some underlying romantic feelings (strong romantic feelings) that will be expanded upon in the next fic.

Moritz looked down to his hands in his lap as Melchior started the car. He bounced his leg while he thought of something to say.

"I’m… happy for Ernst. And for Hanschen—both of them. I’m happy for them," was what he settled on, and it wasn’t _untrue_. One of his best friends just got married—which was awesome—but the more Moritz thought about it, the bigger the pit in his stomach grew. The sentimentality of it all; having all your friends (and _family_ ) gather around to watch you and someone you’re in love with vow to spend the rest of your lives together? _Fucked up if true._

As Melchior pulled out onto the road and away from Ernst’s house where the reception had been, he glanced over to the passenger side, but Moritz didn’t return his gaze. "Me too." A brief pause. "...Are you okay, Moritz?"

 _How does he know? How does he always know?_ Moritz clenched his jaw and looked out the window, sighing. "I’m fine." His features contorted for a half second, unsatisfied with his own response. Melchior could tell when he was lying. "Melchi, I think that I am going to die alone."

The car jolted slightly as Melchior tapped the brake in surprise, and it was probably a good thing that Ernst lived in the middle of nowhere with nonexistent traffic. "Hey—"

"No, I am. And I should, because isn’t it fucked up to be jealous at your friend’s wedding? I should just be... happy for them, but I’m an idiot! I’m just thinking about how _I_ feel. This sucks. I am a jester in the court of the Lord and my existence is the punchline to a shitty joke and all of the angels are looking down at me right now and pointing and saying stop. Talking. Moritz."

He reached up and pulled at his hair in frustration, still a mess of curls despite his efforts to look put-together for the event. His gaze was firmly directed out the window and his eyes were stinging with tears that he did his best to hold back—not that it mattered anyways, since Melchior had seen him cry more times than anyone else he knew at this point.

Melchior inhaled before speaking, "You don’t have to stop talking, Moritz, don’t torture yourself. Better out than in, you know? ...Like Shrek always says." He took one of his hands from the wheel to nudge Moritz’s arm with his elbow.

In spite of himself, Moritz let out a choked exhale—the closest he could get to a laugh in his current state. "Stupid…dumb joke," he responded in a whisper, looking forward. The tears flowed freely now as he suddenly, strangely, felt comforted by Melchior’s stupid dumb joke and stopped trying to hold himself together.

"I feel like I shouldn’t be like this. I don’t even know what _this_ is. It’s like I missed… something a long time ago, and now I’m… not where I’m supposed to be. Not just, um, relationship-wise, but… It’s just like I’m doing… _something_ wrong. Except I don’t know what it is so I can’t stop doing it and I am doomed to be a loser. Forever. I can’t even blame anyone else for not wanting to be around me because _I_ don’t even want to be around me. Is it me? My fault? Can I do anything? What can I do?" He bit the inside of his cheek and wiped his nose on the sleeve of his suit. _Fuck_. "I guess the therapy helps," he added halfheartedly in an attempt to soften the blow of… everything else he just said. "It just sucks sometimes, like, something happens and it’s like… I go back to the beginning, and everything falls to shit again. And again. And again."

They fell into a silence, but it wasn’t awkward. Moritz knew it was just because Melchior was thinking of the right thing to say, but he couldn’t help but feel a little guilty that Melchior felt like he _had_ to say anything. Moritz shrunk into himself, but before he could tell Melchior not to feel responsible for him, he was already talking.

"It’s not a failure to not be happy all the time, Moritz. No one’s happy all the time. I think it’s kind of fucked up that we’re all fed this idea that happiness is some tangible thing that people can reach a perpetual state of by exercising enough or whatever. It makes people feel like they’re doing something wrong if they can’t hold onto it, but they’re not. _You’re_ not."

Moritz bit the inside of his cheek to stop more tears from welling up. To be honest, it was a tangent that he couldn’t really follow in his current state, but he did feel a little comforted by Melchior’s passionate delivery.

Melchior went on, explaining himself, "It’s an emotion, just like being sad, and people’s emotions change all the time. The problem is that sadness is just more noticeable because it sucks to feel that way. You’re happy a lot more than you realize, Moritz… I mean, you’ve filled up how many journals since your therapist told you to start writing down the things that make you happy?"

A long silence.

"Five." His voice cracked when he finally answered.

"Five!" Melchior repeated, taking one hand off the wheel to reach over and give Moritz a friendly smack on the shoulder with the back of his hand. "That’s—"

"Melchi," Moritz squeaked out, nervously fumbling with the buttons of his cuffs. Melchior stopped talking immediately, waiting for him to say his piece. "I don’t think—it’s not really working right now." His face contorted as he cringed at himself, not sure that the words came out right, but having no way to explain himself. _Damn it. Ass._ "I mean—thank you, but I—it just isn’t…"

"It’s fine, Moritz," Melchior assured him, but Moritz sunk down in his seat regardless. "It doesn’t always help to have reassurances thrown at you. But—hey," a short pause, "you’re my best friend, Moritz. I’m always gonna be here, if nothing else."

Moritz knew Melchior was just trying to reassure him by being reasonable, and he appreciated it of course, but all that his reassurances were doing for him in the present moment were making him feel more guilty. He didn’t know why he felt like this. He didn’t feel like this earlier—apparently the short, silent walk to the car after the wedding reception was plenty of time for his brain to ruin an otherwise perfectly happy evening; as usual.

"Thanks, Melchi," he squeaked out with some effort, then resigned himself to sit in silence for the rest of the ride home, looking out the window to avoid Melchior’s _'_ _Are you sure you don’t want to talk about it?'_  glances. _Yes, I’m sure._

It was only fifteen or so minutes before they arrived back at the apartment complex that the two of them lived in, but it felt agonizingly long to Moritz, who quickly realized that the silence only gave him the opportunity to think even more about his past personal and social failures, as well as chastise himself for thinking about them to begin with.

They both got out of the car and climbed the stairs to their apartment without a word, Moritz trailing behind Melchior with his eyes downcast.

Moritz shrugged off his suit jacket as Melchior opened the door, preparing to slip by and lock himself in his room and… cry? Jack off? Maybe both? Probably both. But before he could move anywhere, Melchior had tossed his keys and jacket onto the couch and turned back to face him. The lights were still off, and the dim light of the moon peeking through the windows didn’t offer much for Moritz to gauge his friend’s expression. _God, what’s he going to say?_

Melchior didn’t say anything. His arms were around him before Moritz could even comprehend what he was doing, and not long after that came the tears that Moritz had intended to save for the privacy and crushing solitude of his own room. His hands grasped the back of Melchior’s shirt without thinking—an instinctive and desperate attempt to prolong the embrace—but Melchior tightened the hug; his hand pressing the space between his shoulder blades in a silent affirmation that he wasn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

Moritz didn’t know how long they stood like that, but it was long enough for him to stop crying and actually begin to feel somewhat peaceful. Still, he couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed when Melchior finally pulled away—but both of them maintained the contact; Melchior’s hands rested casually on Moritz’s shoulders while Moritz grasped Melchior’s arms.

Melchior was close enough now that Moritz could see him clearly even in the dark, but his expression wasn’t any less indecipherable to him.

The silence was starting to make Moritz feel incredibly aware of himself—his tear stained face, the death grip he had on Melchior’s sleeves. _Say something, anything!_

Moritz didn’t say anything. He didn’t have time to, because suddenly Melchior’s lips were on his. His right hand had migrated from Moritz’s shoulder to just barely cup his jaw, while his left hand tensed, gripping Moritz’s shirt more than his shoulder at this point. Meanwhile, Moritz was frozen solid—his eyes were wide open, and he was going cross-eyed while trying to get a better look at Melchior’s face (which was approximately -3 inches away from his).

It was anyone’s guess how long the moment lasted—it seemed to last an eternity, but at the same time it felt like Melchior had ended it just as quickly as he began it, and Moritz was left utterly dumbfounded. In fact, it took a couple of seconds for the reality to set in, and suddenly he trembled. His face and neck felt hot, and his hands—which were still gripping Melchior’s arms—felt ice cold. _Did he just kiss me? Dear God, I know you don’t normally answer me, but can you tell me right now whether or not he just kissed me? Hello?_

They just stared at one another quietly for several seconds.

"Melchi," Moritz finally managed to say.

"I’m sorry, I—" Melchior said in the same moment, then stopped himself.

"You can… I—I mean, if you… um. Do it again?"

After the request, Melchior didn’t hesitate, and this time the action was considerably more enthusiastic. Moritz screwed his eyes shut to make up for leaving them open the first time, and suddenly his back was up against the front door, both of Melchior’s hands were on his jaw, Melchior’s mouth was back on his—and Melchior’s tongue was in his mouth. _Oh my god, Melchi’s tongue is in my mouth. Am I dying? Am I dead? Are the angels still laughing at me? God, he’s really good at this. What the fuck?_

Moritz’s trembling hands let go of Melchior’s arms and moved instead to grasp his wrists in some kind of attempt at keeping him close, though Melchior didn’t seem to be going anywhere anytime soon. The opposite, really—Moritz would have thought that the way Melchior was leaning into him was almost comically intense if it hadn’t wiped every thought from his mind entirely.

After several long, horny seconds, Melchior stepped back, breathless, then dropped his hands from Moritz’s jaw to grasp his tie with one hand and his shirt with the other. He pulled him forward and away from the door, and resumed the kiss while at the same time turning Moritz so he could push him back toward— _my bedroom? Are we_ —?

The thought made Moritz stumble slightly as he was pushed backwards, and Melchior tightened his grip on his shirt and tie to hold him upright. Moritz opened his eyes briefly to see Melchior giving him an amused—but good-natured—smile before tugging him back into a kiss and pushing him back toward the bedroom.

The door to his bedroom was partially ajar already, and Melchior let go of Moritz's tie for a moment to push it open all the way. He then grabbed it again, gently but firmly pulling Moritz's face back against his as they made their way towards Moritz's bed.  
  
Moritz gasped every time Melchior broke away from the kiss for even a moment; he still couldn't believe that it was really happening, and Melchior's kisses were so deep and prolonged that he couldn't breathe during them, anyway.  
  
Kicking the door shut with his heel, Melchior then dropped his left hand to grab around Moritz's waist; Moritz jumped at the touch.  
  
"Are you okay?" Melchior said breathlessly in a low voice, steadying Moritz as they stopped just near his bed. His eyes were half closed and their faces were still centimeters apart, and Melchior's hand was still grasping Moritz's tie.  
  
_God, you're grabbing my tie and my face and my waist and sticking your tongue in my mouth, and now we're in my bedroom about to do who knows what, of course I'm fucking okay._ Moritz nodded, glancing from Melchior's eyes—God, how did he never notice how nice they were to look at that close up?—to his slightly swollen lips, his face growing hot at the thought that he'd just been kissing them.  
  
"Yes! I mean, it just, um, surprised me. Why are we—" Moritz's eyes then darted from the bed back to Melchior, too embarrassed to even ask.  
  
"Do you want to?" was all Melchior said, slowly easing him towards the bed, anticipating the answer he was going to—hoping to—get.  
  
Moritz didn't really know what Melchior wanted to do, exactly, but he knew that anything that would keep Melchior with him longer was exactly what _he_ wanted, so he nodded frantically and kissed Melchior again, suddenly emboldened. Melchior's hand tightened on his waist and he felt him pushing him backwards onto the bed.  
  
Melchior kneeled over him, one leg between Moritz's and the other still dangling off the side of the bed. Moritz trembled more the closer any of Melchior's body got to his groin, and when Melchior let go of his tie and set a hand on his thigh he thought he might faint.  
  
Moritz had forgotten all about his laments from earlier, and the dried tears on his cheeks were nothing to him now. Not that they wouldn't come back eventually, but how could he think about being sad when _this_ was happening to him? Now all he could think about was how Melchior's mouth tasted and how warm his hands on his cheeks had been, and how absolutely, excitingly terrifying this situation was.  
  
Melchior sat up, breaking the kiss although Moritz absentmindedly leaned forward and tried to keep it going. Moritz then propped himself up on his elbows and watched him, his heart pounding and his stomach churning in anticipation of whatever was coming next.  
  
Melchior was unbuttoning his shirt. He did it quickly like a task he was trying to get out of the way, and when he had taken it off he tossed it on one of Moritz's chairs nearby.  
  
Moritz stared at his bare chest, suddenly wanting to touch it but stopping himself because he didn't know if he could and being too embarrassed to ask. Melchior very rarely wore a shirt in the house anyway, but the intimacy of this was making Moritz's blood rush to his head (and his dick) and somehow arousing him more than getting pushed against the door and kissed with tongue did.  
  
Melchior then placed his hands on Moritz's chest, toying with one of the buttons and looking to him for confirmation. Moritz tensed up and shook his head ever so slightly as he fell back against the pillows, his arms suddenly tired. He had always been particularly insecure about his chest and even now he didn't want the discomfort of exposing it. "Just the tie…" he said quietly, almost ashamed for reasons he couldn't quite place.  
  
"That's okay," Melchior whispered, then leaned down and kissed him yet again as he undid his tie and tossed it on the floor. He then reached up and ran his fingers through Moritz's hair, messing up the curls even further.  
  
Moritz was in shock and incredibly horny. Melchior had played with his hair plenty of times before and it never meant anything, but in that moment Moritz couldn't imagine anything with greater intimacy. Then Melchior pulled away and set his hands on both of Moritz's thighs.  
  
"Um, uh—" Moritz muttered without thinking, suddenly embarrassed that Melchior would notice his erection as if that hadn't been obvious for the past ten minutes, and as if that wasn't the end-goal anyway.  
  
"Can I?" Melchior asked, gesturing to the fly of his pants.  
  
Moritz knew it was coming but his eyes widened anyway. "Um—yes. Please. Yes."  
  
He looked away while Melchior undid his belt, staring up at the ceiling and wondering what the angels were thinking now.  
  
Once his pants were gone, leaving in him nothing but socks, briefs, and his one nice shirt, Moritz was really beginning to feel the reality of the situation. _If this is a dream, God, please let me wake up now before things get out of hand and I wake up sad that it wasn't real._ But it wasn't a dream, and when Moritz didn't feel Melchior's touch anymore he looked up and saw that Melchior was taking his own pants off.  
  
_That_ made him nervous. "Melchi, I-I don't think I—"  
  
"Don't worry, Moritz, it's nothing like that. I just don't want to mess up my expensive pants." He tossed them on top of his shirt on the chair and gave Moritz an amused grin, finally coming back and laying beside him, partially propped up on his elbow so that he was still looking down at Moritz.

It was all Moritz could do to keep from looking at Melchior's dick print that was so painfully large and obvious. _Oh God, I caused that. What the fuck?_  
  
Every part of Moritz was trembling in suspense as Melchior's right hand settled at the top of his waistband. He looked up at him with pleading eyes and Melchior raised an eyebrow which made Moritz's heart pound, so hard that he was convinced it was audible.  
  
Finally Melchior reached under the waistband and took Moritz in his hand. Moritz immediately groaned unwillingly and he bit his lip in embarrassment. Melchior even laughed slightly, which made Moritz break out in a cold sweat. _God damn it, I'm 24 years old and I've never even fucking kissed anyone until ten minutes ago, I am not going to sabotage this for myself by looking like an idiot… Even if he already knows I am one._  
  
Melchior kissed his cheek and his jaw and occasionally his lips as he started, his movements excruciatingly slow.  
  
Moritz wanted to moan and sigh and groan Melchior's name under his breath and everything else he always did in fantasies like this, but he was far too shy for that. Instead he bit his cheek, grateful for every time Melchior decided to kiss him on the mouth again.  
  
Then Melchior kissed his neck and Moritz couldn't stop himself from bucking his hips against him and gasping.  
  
"Don't be so tense," Melchior whispered in his ear, quickening the pace of the handjob but stopping every few seconds to give his other parts some attention.  
  
"Sorry. This is—fuck." Moritz groaned again. Melchior's hand was warm and just slightly sweaty and the sensation of his fingers trailing up and down and around his cock and along the inside of his thighs was almost too much for Moritz to bear. It was definitely better than any time he'd jacked himself off, that was for sure.  
  
"C-can you do that again?" Moritz mumbled, his eyes half crossed and half closed. "My n-neck."  
  
Melchior complied without a word and kissed Moritz's neck just under his jawline, barely using his tongue; just enough to make Moritz moan obscenely. Melchior stopped working on Moritz's cock and set his hand on his lower stomach instead, trailing circles on his abdomen over his shirt.  
  
"I like how your mouth is hanging open like that," Melchior muttered in his ear, very clearly to fluster him.  
  
_Oh God. Oh fuck. You can't just say that sort of thing. Fuck._ _What is going on?!_ Moritz shivered and brought one of his hands behind Melchior's head, tangling his fingers in his hair and pulling him down for his own kiss. He pulled him down a bit too forcefully and their teeth hit together, eliciting a laugh from Melchior.  
  
"Sorry—I've never done this—you know that, obviously—" Moritz muttered some other nonsensical words before Melchior cut him off with another, better kiss.  
  
"Stop apologizing to me while I give you a handjob, Moritz." Melchior laughed again and this time Moritz couldn't help but laugh a bit, too.  
  
_God, that is what he's doing, isn't it? I wish he'd touch my dick again. Fuck. I'm so horny._  
  
His prayers were answered as Melchior then pulled Moritz's underwear down further, again wrapping his hand around his cock and returning to his former pace.  
  
Melchior hadn't been going for long when Moritz's breathing hitched and he absentmindedly started tugging on Melchior's hair. His other hand was grasping his sheets. "Um, Melchi, I'm—" He gasped and came sooner than he expected, again unwillingly bucking his hips. His face went red, both from embarrassment and from the intensity. Melchior kept going with his pace, though, even as Moritz's spunk was dripping down his fingers and getting on the sheets.  
  
Moritz almost wanted to push him away because of how vigorous the feeling was, but moments later Melchior stopped anyway. He stood and grabbed a towel hanging on Moritz's doorknob and wiped his hand on it, then cleaned up the mess on the sheets.  
  
Moritz watched him the whole time, his mouth still hanging open as he breathed heavily, unsure of what to do next. He almost wanted to thank him but decided against it; his eyelids were slowly beginning to droop as exhaustion started to overcome him, but he was determined to see what else Melchior had in store.  
  
Unfortunately it didn't seem to be much—Melchior came back and again kneeled beside him on the bed, taking Moritz's chin in his hand and lifting it gently to give him another kiss, this time without the sloppiness and tongue. Moritz did his best to reciprocate; truly he wanted to keep kissing Melchior all night but he suddenly found himself falling asleep. All of that crying and cumming combined really takes a lot out of a man. _Ugh, stay awake. Maybe more will happen. You're ruining your chances… you didn't even say anything to him… aren't you supposed to reciprocate... you look like an idiot, Moritz..._

Moritz barely heard Melchior call out 'goodnight' before sleep overtook him.


	2. Chapter 2

Moritz woke up from an oddly peaceful sleep, calmly opening his eyes and looking up at the ceiling. He couldn't remember any of his dreams, which was strange; he usually remembered them in agonizing detail and wrote them down for future reference.

He turned on his side, perfectly content with falling back asleep because of how comfortable he felt—then he saw his tie and pants strewn across the floor and the events of the night before came flooding back to him.

His heart began to pound as he sat up. _Was that a dream? Did Melchi really give me a handjob? Fuck, I'm already horny again. Please be a dream. Please don't be a dream? Fuck. I can't go out there. God, he kissed me. His tongue was in my mouth. Am I still a virgin? Was that real? Does Melchi like me?_

Moritz looked at his bedroom door and wondered where Melchior was on the other side of it and just what he was doing. Was he still asleep? Doubtful—it was already past 10 and Melchior only woke up in the single digits. Was he not home at all? God, how Moritz wished, but he didn't have anywhere to go. Was he waiting to confront him about how Moritz was so God awful that he somehow guilt-tripped him into giving him a handjob? Honestly, maybe.

Moritz knew that of course the only way to find out what Melchior was doing or thinking was to go out there and find out himself, but that thought terrified him.

He looked around his room for confirmation: his towel was gone; his tie and pants were thrown on the floor; his blankets weren't strewn about like they usually were. Everything seemed to support the conclusion that yes, Melchior really _had_ given him a handjob the night before, but it still shocked Moritz.

_Jesus, why did he do that? Fuck. I have to go out there. I don't know what to say but I have to._

He slung his legs over the side of the bed, noting his missing sock and underwear that were halfway off.

_I have to go out there. Get up. Go._

He stood up slowly, rubbing his eyes, still tired but certainly unable to go back to sleep now.

_GO. OUT. THERE. MORITZ._

He pulled his boxers up all the way, and searched for a moment for his missing sock before deciding he didn't really need it.

_GO!!!_

Moritz made his way to his door and reached for the handle then stopped, suddenly breaking out in a cold sweat. He ignored the urging in his mind and retreated to his bed, sitting on the edge of it and staring down at his feet.

He knew that there was no denying what had happened the previous night, but he tried to recall any other times that Melchior had expressed an interest in him. They'd been best friends for twenty years—surely Melchior didn't just _suddenly_ feel like giving him a handjob.

_But what if he did, Moritz? What if he just pitied you because you're a fucking virgin loser crybaby idiot? But he told me he liked when my mouth hangs open. But that doesn't mean anything! He probably just said that to make me actually feel liked for fucking once. Fuck. He does like me. I mean, we're best friends. He told me he loves me. I love him. I mean, not in that way. I mean, maybe I do. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck._

Moritz let out an exasperated sigh and ran his fingers through his hair in frustration, then all at once jumped up and went to his door and pulled it open.

Sitting at the kitchen table directly across from his bedroom door was Melchior. He was shirtless and wearing plaid pajama pants; a marvel since he usually got dressed at 8AM. There was no sign of the typical breakfast layout that Melchior made every morning, and instead he was drinking what appeared to be black coffee from a mug—Melchior only drank coffee when something big happened—with a plate of bagels nearby. In front of him was his journal, and he stopped midway in writing in it to look up at Moritz.

_Oh, God, he's acting weird. This is all my fault. I made him feel weird last night. Fuck._ Moritz wanted to turn and retreat back into his bedroom, but that was out of the question, because Melchior was looking at him as if he was waiting for him to speak. And besides, that would just be kind of weird and end up with an even more awkward confrontation later.

Moritz finally decided to just smile without saying anything, walking over to the table—dragging his feet to prolong it as if Melchior wasn't already waiting—and sitting across from him.

Melchior just barely raised an eyebrow. "Well, morning, Moritz. How are you feeling?"

Moritz avoided eye contact, staring at the table. "Um, fine. I-I mean, I'm a little hungry. I'm fine." He was unsure of whether Melchior meant because of last night or just in general, but he was afraid to ask or specify. He _was_ fine after all the crying, but that was mostly because he was so caught up with the fact that Melchior and him had made out. And that, well—in regards to him and Melchior making out, he was perfectly fine. A lot better than fine, in fact.

Melchior pushed the tray of bagels towards him. "I know you don't like coffee, but there's orange juice in there. I got your bagel without egg the way you like it."

"Oh, um, thank you. Thanks, Melchi." He smiled again, absentmindedly standing and heading towards the fridge.

Moritz poured himself some of the orange juice, having absolutely no interest in drinking any but not wanting to just sit there doing nothing. He returned to the table, an uncomfortable—at least for Moritz—silence having settled over them. Melchior had begun writing in his journal again, and Moritz sat back down and ate the bagel for a painstaking twenty minutes.

He thought about what he might tell Ernst—Ernst was his best friend besides Melchior, and the only person he'd confided in about his long-winded crush on Melchior that had sprouted from a road trip they all took the summer after senior year. Ernst had been urging him to tell Melchior about his feelings for years; Moritz shut that idea down every time, but now all of a sudden he'd gotten a handjob from Melchior. He would certainly have to tell Ernst _that_ , no matter how the situation ended up. It was progress, right?

Moritz suddenly heard Melchior slap his pen down on the table and looked up in surprise. Melchior was looking right at him, a tired look in his eyes.

"Okay, Moritz, I know we're both thinking about last night. I'm not just going to not say anything about it. I—"

"Thank you!" Moritz interjected, leaning forward in his seat frantically. "I mean, not thank you, but because of the, um. Yes. That was. Really good." He cringed, but kept talking anyway because now he was anxious and excited and didn't want to give Melchior the chance to say he regretted it. "I, uh, thanks for the bagel also, but mostly I'm thinking about last night, and I, uh, yeah. Yeah. Fuck."

Melchior was grinning at him. "Oh. Good. I was afraid you'd be awkward about it and that we could never be best friends again."

_Fuck, how is he always so casual? How is he so good?_ "No! Not awkward. I wanna keep being your best friend. And, um." _God, well, more than best friends, really, but I can't fucking say that. That's weird and he would probably never like me like that._ Moritz looked away, tearing his fingers through his hair again, trying to think of any way to word it. Yeah, not happening. He stayed silent and gave a slight laugh as if that was sufficient.

As usual, Melchior knew exactly what to say even when Moritz gave him nothing to work with. "You wanna do it again?"

Moritz looked back at him with wide eyes. "Um. Yes. Please. Right now? If you want, that is." He laughed nervously, his eyes darting back and forth between Melchior's eyes and lips.

Melchior stood and shut his journal then made his way around the table, grinning and beckoning to Moritz to follow him back to his room.

**Author's Note:**

> feel free to follow us @hanschhen + @ernnst on tumblr!


End file.
